


Made for Each Other

by Enna_of_the_Stars (CDSE)



Series: Rainbows Only His Eyes Can See [2]
Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Adventure, Big Bang Challenge, Fishing Trip, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hugging, Mild Angst, Natsume Yuujinchou Big Bang, Platonic Love, Touko is best mom, brief mentions of childhood trauma, brief mentions of past abuse, day trip, hand holding, kitanishinatsu, natsume is a doofus because we love him, natsume yuujinchou big bang 2k20, no beta we die like fools, no nyanko, no reiko, stupid descriptions of everything, toothrotting fluff seriously, trio share singular brain cell and it's kitamoto, yokai briefly mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:55:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25938508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CDSE/pseuds/Enna_of_the_Stars
Summary: Natsume, Kitamoto, and Nishimura go on a fishing trip into the mountains. Natsume can't help these flashes that remind him of his past. He really can't, he's trying, but they come back biting. But it's okay, because Nishimura and Kitamoto are both here. They're here, they love him, they'll keep him safe.Oneshot for the "Rainbows Only His Eyes Can See" series. Set just a tad after Natsume is taken in by the Fujiwaras and meets the Nishimura and Kitamoto. Preferably read after "This Is Home"  as they are set in the same universe. But doesn't have to be.
Relationships: Fujiwara Touko & Natsume Takashi, Kitamoto Atsushi & Natsume Takashi, Kitamoto Atsushi & Nishimura Satoru, Kitamoto Atsushi/Nishimura Satoru, Natsume Takashi & Nishimura Satoru
Series: Rainbows Only His Eyes Can See [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881934
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54
Collections: Natsume Yuujinchou Bang Summer 2k20





	Made for Each Other

**Author's Note:**

> Another big bang this year! Another kind of long fic...? This year has been super fun with my big bang partner, Ray, who has literally kept me going with the amazing art. Because what else motivates you more than fanart for your fic??? Anyways, please check out Ray's art in the fic and at his tumblr!
> 
> You can find him at:
> 
> [Tumblr](https://justaregulardecoratedemergency.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can find the Big Bang and the rest of the lovely people who worked on it this year at:
> 
> [Big Bang 2k20](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/NatsuyuuBang2k20)

The gentle ring of the wind chime hanging from the window is wonderfully clear and pleasant as the warm summer breeze drifts in gently past the translucent glass separating the outside world and what has become so, so much like _home_. The sun is just peeking over the hilltops, rays bright and linear, leading. The clouds are full and light, and so beautifully puffed as they list the way the wind blows, providing shade in drifting, timeless, moments. 

Natsume hugs the pillow in between his arms just a little tighter. He presses it into his chest and relishes in the security it provides and lets out a long, somewhat pent up sigh. His body relaxes into the seat cushion, and a tentative smile makes it way onto his lips. Time drifts forward, and it seems like an instant before the sun’s rays suddenly stilt in past glass and air and dust of crystal. It lands on and through his hair and into his eyes. And suddenly, like a gem glittering into an illuminated kaleidoscope, the world is gold and bright and just, _warm._ Natsume blinks and his lashes catch not quite starlight with the flutter. A particularly strong breeze floats in and his hair floats with it, catching rays and casting shadows not yet crisp and dark. They too, seem warm and bright despite their nature. 

An inhale, a warmth, and bubbling up in his chest, Natsume feels fire and flame, and family, and—he can’t continue the thought because now, the bubbles overflow and reach the outside. He blinks, and a stray drop leaks, trailing down his cheek. He makes a frustrated noise, and quickly sits up to full height, right hand coming up to scrub at the traitorous tear that escaped before he could school it into staying in. But it’s too late. Like the waterfalls that came tumultuous and powerful all the time before, away from piercing stares, Natsume is unable to stop and the tears do not stop and they will not stop, no matter how hard he tries. His breath hitches and he’s quiet, a learned skill, a necessity. He knows, though, it’s not something Touko-san or Shigeru-san would ever get mad at. So he knows, this too, that this waterfall is not a fault forced into flowing from the hurt. Instead, it’s just too warm, too comforting, too safe. He’s not used to this, it scares him just a little bit.

Another swipe at the tears and the wind continues to blow, caressing the room gently like always. Always, always, never harmful, never scary. The sun shines only brighter as the lovely little chime hanging from the window rings again and again, soothing and familiar. The waterfall slows and recedes, leaving nothing but soft edges and unspoken relief. Natsume lets out a shaky breath. The watery smile is blindingly gold and bright. Wavy, yes, but _there_. And the pillow is a solid reminder, a habit formed indeed, but now it’s only for this pillow, here, when Natsume can’t help but cling in disbelief at how lucky he is. How such a miracle could happen. How rare it is, now, that something his arms used to do without fail, wrap around himself when he’s out and not here. Natsume knows and knows and knows, without a doubt, in this place of love and care; of friends that are kind, of family that is so tender; he is wanted. He is loved. He is—

“Takashi-kun!” Touko’s voice comes calling, sliding in before Natsume can finish his thought. A blink, a catch, a flicker of light and crystal, and Natsume let’s his smile, no longer watery, widen even further. He can feel it, he knows he’s a little flushed, but it’s not because he’s sick. With careful, methodical, and unhurried movements, Natsume unwinds himself from off the floor cushion and without hesitation, lets go of the pillow. He set it down gently, on top of the cushion. _Pillow sandwich_ , the thought suddenly comes to mind. Natsume stops in his motions, a look of surprise is on his face. He huffs out a quick but pleasant chuckle and shakes the thought from his head, a little embarrassed if anything. 

The hallway is dim, but awash in a golden hue. It’s a little musty, but it’s a comforting feeling of being encased in something that felt safe and familiar. Natsume makes his way to the stairs, hand tracing the white wall with each step. Despite the many days he’s spent here, Natsume doesn’t even realize it, but he stands close to the wall, where the floorboards are settled and won’t creak, where they won’t make a noise that would remind those people he was here. The hand, unconscious in action, lends to the way, even though it’s broad daylight. It’s an old habit, one unbreaking, unyielding, unnecessary, now. But that kind of stuff didn’t matter anymore. Not in this place. Not now. 

What matters is that Touko, the ever loving, the ever kind woman who would firmly and assuredly press a homemade bento everyday into Natsume’s hands every morning without fail, the woman who had effortlessly welcomed Natsume home with Shigeru that summer day back, how long ago was it—Natsume can’t really remember anymore. The time here is ever flowing, but stuck in standstill with how much the love he felt, has always felt, will always feel in this house; it overflows into his mind and his memories, eating up the space that was once dim and dark, full of pain, of something that Natsume didn’t want to remember. Shouldn’t have to remember. But what matters is that Touko was calling for him, and he would answer. Every time, every day, without fail, because he loved her back just as much as she loved him. As they both, Shigeru and Touko, loved him. It burst into the fire it was before, and Natsume had to stop. He takes a deep, shaky breath. It washes over him, cooling, dousing the flame that would unleash a torrent of bubbles and water again. All over again. When he breathes out, all is still, and peace, peace moves in once more. 

When Natsume finally winds down the last step and sees Touko in the genkan with Nishimura and Kitamoto, who are both in hiking equipment and swim trunks, fishing poles slung over their backs, Natsume’s smile doesn’t drop. It seemingly can’t, not here, with these three in front of him, smiling back just as wide. 

“Touko-san,” Natsume begins. “Thank you for calling me.” 

Touko doesn’t say anything, merely nodding and smiling that smile that crinkles the edges of her eyes and sparks that persistent flame inside Natsume again. She hums, nodding at Kitamoto and Nishimura, still in the genkan, before she drifts away like a cloud, into the kitchen. 

Kitamoto is the first to snap out of the moment. He turns to Natsume, about to say something when he stops and smiles fondly. Natsume is staring at Touko’s back. His hands have come together in front of him, not wrapped around himself protectively, but twiddling and worrying, a nervous tick, that doesn’t worry Kitamoto. Not when Natsume is so obviously happy, sappy, gooey and honey-thick sweet for the gentleness that Touko exudes. Kitamoto elbows Nishimura, who snaps to attention, ready to elbow Kitamoto back when he stops and turns towards Natsume at Kitamoto’s gesturing look. Nishimura melts on the spot, into Kitamoto, and the two are also gooey and honey and sweet for the boy that stands before them, so different, so happy compared to when he first came to them. 

Kitamoto finally lets out a very soft cough that immediately draws Natsume’s attention. The sudden flash of fear at the quiet sound, however quiet still loud to Natsume’s ears, can’t help but force a worm of guilt into Kitamoto’s chest. He smiles apologetically, reassuringly, to calm himself and Natsume.

“Sorry, Natsume,” Kitamoto says. “I was just—”

“No! No, no, it’s okay! Please don’t apologize!” Natsume suddenly bursts out. Kitamoto stops mid-sentence, shocked, but not angry, by the outburst from the usually amicable Natsume. The three of them stare at each other for slightly too long, because suddenly Natsume shrinks. He’s back and wound up tight, and looking down and small. So, so small. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” His voice is shaky and weak, hoarse. 

Nishimura is frozen solid, worry literally erupting from every inch of him. Kitamoto thinks that if Nishimura hadn’t been worried about overwhelming Natsume, he would have literally vibrated into the floorboards and jettisoned himself into Natsume's side for the biggest hug he could muster. Kitamoto, too, feels an all too powerful surge of something, anger it seems, for those people that made Natsume think he should ever apologize for something as small as this. But then the anger subsides into a bitterness that pools into the pit of his stomach. Kitamoto very carefully lets out a breath, trying to calm himself because he didn’t want to scare Natsume any more than he already did, even if inadvertently. But it doesn’t work, he’s calm now, yes, but Natsume flinches visibly at the sound of Kitamoto’s breath. And Kitamoto sinks further into his bitter pool. The breath must have sounded like a sigh of anger or perhaps impatience. But no, no. That’s not it. Intent on showing it, Kitamoto smiles reassuringly again. 

“Hey,” Kitamoto begins in the softest, gentlest voice he can muster. It seems to work, Natsume visibly starts, blinking at the soft tone. He carefully, slowly, fearfully raises his eyes. Kitamoto elbows Nishimura again, and by the time Natsume sees them both, they’re smiling at him with those same, stupid sappy, sappy looks. Natsume’s hands loosen and he straightens a little bit. “It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize.” Kitamoto says.

At that, Natsume fully regains his wonderfully beautiful, radiant, fuzzy-edged lovable self. He looks hopefully at Kitamoto, hoping probably, that this wasn’t a joke, and that Kitamoto really was saying what Natsume thinks he’s saying. Kitamoto continues.

“I was just wondering where your stuff is?” Kitamoto lilts his tone to make it end slightly higher than he would normally do with a question. It has the desired, awesome effect. Nishimura starts giggling. Natsume bursts into the full glory of the beaming sunlight and gold he is when he smiles just slightly shy of laughing. And then Natsume replies.

“Oh.” He says. Then, “Oh!” And he whips around and blasts up the stairs, ears tinged red with embarrassment. Nishimura is full on howling now, collapsing in the genkan in laughter. Kitamoto can’t help but giggle a little too. It’s rare to see Natsume so, well… unabashedly flustered cute.

They hear a few bangs and surprisingly, a few shockingly vulgar curses, which raises Touko’s eyebrows through the roof. Nishimura’s entire body seems to blink in shock, and Kitamoto is frozen like lightning struck, a crooked and bewildered look on his face. Nishimura has promptly ceased howling from on the floor and uses Kitamoto’s hand to stand back up. The two stare at each other, crooked smile matching crooked smile. A shared thought seems to run between them, _Damn. Natsume knows how to curse!_ And with that, Natsume comes tumbling back down the stairs just as wildly as he went up. 

He rounded the corner and Touko had wandered back from the kitchen to revere this, flushed and wholly unhindered, unworried, Natsume. He’s on the last few steps when in his haste, his foot slips and he’s suddenly, practically somersaulted forward, whole body and bag flying forward with him.

“Ah! Natsume!” Kitamoto and Nishimura both cry out as Touko is still processing what’s happening. A loud thump and a bunch of groans and grumbles later, Kitamoto shoves at whoever’s arm is in his face. A hand on his stomach heavily presses down and he grunts in mild discomfort. He raises a knee and accidentally bumps into something in his daze.

“Ow, Acchan!” Nishimura says, voice muffled and low. And like thunder hitting the ocean, Nishimura and Kitamoto both surge up, ignoring each other’s protests as they essentially untangle themselves. They try unsuccessfully, only to realize, that it’s because there’s a foot here, a leg there, another arm over there. “Acchan, when did you grow another leg?”

“Same to you, is this not your foot?” Kitamoto questions, lifting the leg of someone? 

A low groan and bleary gold awakens. 

“Ahh! Natsume!” Kitamoto and Nishimura both cry out again. They scramble to untangle themselves again, this time realizing that yes, indeed, there is actually another person entangled with them. By the end of it, Kitamoto is a mess of fishing equipment and hair sticking up sideways. Nishimura’s shirt is completely half off, and his hair is blown back like a blow dryer fluffed it. Natsume on the other hand, is sort of sitting a distance away. He’s a pile of limbs and gold dust, but something is off. 

Nishimura, the fool he is sometimes—at least to Kitamoto who prides himself for being the last brain cell between the two of them, thinks—doesn’t pick up on the strange twang in the seemingly rising tension in the air. He takes one good look at Kitamoto’s mess, then takes in the gaggle of limbs that Natsume is, and just falls backwards and starts cackling, arms holding his stomach in an effort to hold in the cramps. 

“Wow, Natsume!” Nishimura gasps between laugh cycles. “I-I can’t believe I thought you were somehow Acchan’s third foot!” Kitamoto snorts at that, and looks away because all these years of staying by Nishimura’s side makes his laugh only more infectious. He can’t hold it in. Kitamoto bursts into laughter, flopping to the floor and giggling in endless cycles of highs and lows. 

“Same!” Kitamoto continues, “I seriously thought Nishimura somehow grew a whole leg or something!” Another howl of laughter erupts between the two of them. Unseeing, they don’t notice how Natsume is slow to relax a bit, but still relaxes the minuscule amount nonetheless. 

“No, but seriously!” Nishimura said, suddenly pushing up from off the floor, stern look on his face as he looked Natsume up and down. “You okay?”

Kitamoto sits up too, his giggles are quickly muffled by the seriousness of the topic. Both he and Nishimura are sizing up Natsume’s limbs, making sure there aren’t any bruises, scuffs, or cuts. Or even, worst case, broken bones. Natsume’s eyes widen comically as he waves his hands in front of him desperately. 

“No! No! Wait, I mean—yes! Wait, no?” Natsume sort of stops and looks off to the side, confusion at himself clearly evident. Then, “Uh, ok. Um, no I’m not hurt, and yes, I’m okay!” He ends with a smile. Nishimura and Kitamoto smile right back.

“That’s good.” Kitamoto said.

“But like actually?” Nishimura interrupts. “You need to be more careful!” But then Kitamoto pipes up again.

“It’s okay though,” He begins, “Natsume’s practically got us trained in catching him!” And Nishimura snorts and laughs at that. 

“Yeah, yeah! It’s alright though, cause we’ll always be there to catch you!” 

The world is stilted and golden bubbles of fire and flame and crackle and—Natsume’s drowning. He feels like he’s drowning. How can he not be? With this breathlessness in his throat and these bubbles threatening to cover every inch of crystalline starlight glowing and fragmented through the sun beams. This feeling within him ignites bright and loud, so, so impossibly warm that it spreads through his veins like a wildfire in summer. It tinges his cheeks, melts the tips of his ears, and bleeds, blooming, brilliant against his neck, collarbone and shoulders. He ducks his head, eyes hidden by the slightly too long bangs, but it can’t hide the smile that had already grown on his lips. Natsume laughs, too. Ringing, singing, beautifully perfect in the now silent halls. He raises a hand to swipe at those annoying bubbles that catch glitter and crystallize into a waterfall in his eyes. He keeps laughing, watery, wet, choking. But it's _warm._ The world is silent for him, in his effervescent laughter that rings true and beautiful, strikingly beautiful.

Three rich laughs bundle and twine together until there is a euphonic sound echoing throughout the house. Touko, who had watched all this with a knowingly fond eye, almost fully laughs with them, but the only thing keeping her from doing so is the delight of watching from afar. She’s too afraid, perhaps worried would be the better description, that any interruption would end this wonderfilled, perfect, gentle scene before her. Nishimura’s cackles have long since degraded into howling and rolling around on the floor. Kitamoto, too, is unbearable in his laughter, but he quickly lets his laugh die down as the gentle, ringing full-on laugh of Natsume’s was transcendent. Kitamoto stares openly now, eyes wide and slightly shimmering at the sight of this all. All of them here, with limbs in somewhat neater tangles, hair sticking out in all the strangest angles, and clothes in complete, absolute, disarray, Kitamoto can’t help but stare. It’s amazing, so amazing in fact, he reaches out to his left, where Nishimura is still rolling like a man on fire, and quite literally slaps the closest limb. The audible thwack instantly cuts Nishimura’s laughter short. He chokes a bit, coughing, hacking now it seems, before struggling to sit up and grabbing Kitamoto’s hand from where he sat. Nishimura gives a look of _what the hell?!_ and _come on, why’d you stop me?_ Kitamoto replies simply with a flick of his eyes. Nishimura follows the line of movement and his jaw drops as Kitamoto smiles even wider and nods knowingly to himself. _Of course_ , _Nishimura would react like that._

“Natsume’s laughing.” Nishimura whispers.

“Yes, yes he is.” Kitamoto whispers back. And then it hits him, well and truly, it hits him.

“Holy shit.” They both say.

And then, the silence is striking, steel, slick in its deathly beauty. It winds a rope around Natsume’s neck and pulls. He chokes on the wonderfully golden bubble of laughter just about to form and his entire body convulses in the effort to stop them. He struggles a fearful look up from where he suddenly curled into himself and almost flinches back. Nishimura and Kitamoto are staring at him. The light behind them is blinding and bright and it silhouettes them in such a way that Natsume _can’t_ . _He can’t see their faces_ . And everything is wrong, because _shit_ their staring at him, he must have done something wrong, what did he do wrong? And then the rope around his neck pulls tighter suddenly, and he gasps. Of course, of course! Natsume opened his mouth when he shouldn’t have. He was making noise at this time of day with guests, _guests!_ , in the house and that’s wrong, that’s not right, he’s going to get punished, he’s going to, it’s—he’s—

The sob rips its way through him, effective, killing, painful. It slices through his chest, cutting with pinpoint accuracy the sound he was making before. Now, with the rope around his neck and the open, gaping cuts, Natsume can’t breathe, he can’t, he can’t breathe he can’t hecan’tbreathe—

A soft touch cuts the thought short. Natsume flinches back so hard he hits his head on the wall behind him. The touch is gone and he curls up even tighter, the torrent of water dripping down his face is impossibly powerful. It overwhelms every inch of him and bubbles over the world, covering it in thick panes of clear, so clear, honeycomb structures that are reminiscent of graphene. 

The touch comes again, and Natsume flinches away from it. But this time, the hand doesn’t leave. It doesn’t tighten. More hands reach out and are warm against him. A presence suddenly presses against him and he’s being gently guided into… a chest? Soft circles rub along his back and up and down his arms. Softer words, unintelligible and murmuring soothe the frazzled tension of the air. Another body comes huddling even closer and it’s so warm that the barrier between then and now solidifies and Natsume blinks to awareness. He blinks again, because this feels like a hug, something no one has done in so many, uncountable years, that—is this really a hug? He looks up, briefly realizes he’s being held by two pairs of arms and his head is in the crook of a neck, before coming to the realization that both Nishimura and Kitamoto are wrapped around him, tight, unyielding in the face of adversity.

“Hey,” Kitamoto, ever the steadfast calm in the three, whispers. “You’re safe here, Natsume.” 

“Yeah, we’re not going to hurt you,” Nishimura’s voice echoes. “Are you okay with us doing this right now? You don’t have to say yes.” 

Both Nishimura and Kitamoto glance at each other, almost instantly agreeing to let go of this group hug if Natsume doesn’t feel comfortable with it. Natsume tries to say something, it doesn’t quite come out, and his face crumbles in shame and his body crumbles with it. 

“Hey, hey,” Kitamoto said. “It’s okay, take your time. Or if you don’t want to talk, can’t talk right now, just nod yes or no. We’ll do what makes you feel safer.” 

Natsume relaxes ever so slightly, and Nishimura, undaunted by the potentially difficult situation they’re all in, brings the hand that had been wrapped together with Kitamoto’s, up to the back of Natsume’s neck, gently rubbing circles with his thumb. He presses his chin to the top of Natsume’s head and hums softly. Kitamoto doesn’t join in the humming, but he does wind closer, tighter, until all three of them or sort of squished into one section of the wall. He glances up, makes direct eye contact with Touko, exchanges a quick but meaningful silent conversation and she’s gone to make tea for when her son’s ready for it. 

“Do you want us to stop?” Nishimura stops humming for just the moment to ask. 

Natsume nods.

Instantly, Kitamoto and Nishimura are unwinding, pulling back carefully as not to jostle Natsume, but both worried beyond belief that _holy shit, did they just fuck this up._ When all three are fully separated, they take a good look at Natsume and realize, no they didn’t fuck up. He’s smiling his smile, that smile. The one that lights up the whole world in it’s brightness, a beacon in the dark of the storm he bore alone for so long. They smile back. 

“Sorry,” Natsume begins, voice hoarse and still slightly choked. “I’m okay, now.” He winds up, trying to gather both legs to stand, but finds that, no, not really, he doesn’t have the strength to. Kitamoto moves in to help, one arm carefully tucked to support Natsume at the waist, and the other moving Natsume’s own tired arm over Kitamoto’s shoulder to hold. Nishimura does the same, and between the two of them, they get Natsume standing, weakly, but standing. Carefully they maneuver to the kitchen, just within reach and set him down at _his_ seat. They pile in after, both tucked neatly, infinitesimally close, at his left and right. Touko swoops in, tea brewed and warm, and sets the cups down on the table. She sweeps around and holds her son’s face in her hands, and places the gentlest kiss to his forehead. When she pulls back, Natsume’s a flushed, but smiling mess. He ducked his head, but they all know he’s doing it because he’s embarrassed, not because he’s scared. And so they all huff out giggles, the three of them, Touko, Kitamoto, Nishimura. 

Natsume picks up the cup that brings warmth back into his hands, and takes a sip that calms the raging, waterfall in his chest. 

“Now, you boys,” Touko begins suddenly, her hands on her hips. Said boys all look up, Natsume slightly fearful. “You better protect my son! Or else we’ll be having some stern conversations!” 

Kitamoto and Nishimura look at each other from opposite sides of Natsume, who seems to have short-circuited at the word, “son”. They stand up, mock-saluting Touko.

“Yes ma’am! You can count on us!” They reply. Kitamoto is slightly quieter, if only by a fraction, to let Nishimura belt out the words with such an obvious enthusiasm, who is Kitamoto to stop him? Touko nods once, acknowledging their salutes with equal enthusiasm. 

“Good, then off you go, boys! And,” She pauses, grabs a wrapped up bundle of cloth. “Don’t forget your lunches and snacks for the road!” Nishimura eagerly grabs the bundle, while Kitamoto sweeps the suddenly empty cups of tea up from the table and deposits them with expert precision into the sink.

In the next instant, both boys are out into the genkan, gathering the scattered equipment without complaint and with, shockingly, kind of terrifying efficiency built upon years and years of being together. Touko watches them with a smile before very carefully turning back to the boy still sitting in their kitchen. 

“Takashi-kun.” Touko whispered.

He looks up at her with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Stay safe, and go have lots of fun!” Touko says with a smile.

He smiles back.

“Natsume! Come on! All the fish are going to swim away if we don’t hurry!” Kitamoto calls. It looks like the front door has just been opened. 

“Come on, Natsume!” Nishimura calls too.

Natsume bows, ever so slightly to Touko, and when he rises again he’s all gold and bright, brilliant, light, like he was and should always be, because _he deserves to be this blindingly happy all the time,_ Touko thinks. She waves him off. He turns around and practically bolts, colliding with easy familiarity with Kitamoto and Nishimura who receive him with open arms. The three laugh again, ringing. The door closes. But the sun shines on, glistening, yellow diamond and honeysuckle sweet. 

“Acchaaannn!” Nishimura whines as he huffs his way up the hill. He’s just a ways behind Kitamoto and Natsume, who are both plodding along with seemingly no struggle between them. Nishimura hears a laugh, a haughty one too, and finally decides to look up from the unmoving ground, only to see both Kitamoto and Natsume giggling at him. “Hey! How come both of you aren’t dying? The hill’s so tall and the route’s so lonnnggg.” Nishimura continued climbing, if it could be called that, at this point it looked like he was crawling along the floor. A hand comes into view. He looks up, squinting at the bright glowing sun already moving higher and higher into the sky. It looks like noon was well on its way with the rolling clouds filtering lazily with the gentle breeze. 

“Come on, Sacchan,” Kitamoto begins. “It’s not that hard of a climb. Look!” He pulls the boneless Nishimura up from the ground and starts dragging him up the hill. “Even Natsume can handle this, how come you can’t, you doofus.”

Natsume turns around fully at that and smiles like the sun he is, bold, bright, beautiful, outshining even the radiant glow in the sky above. Nishimura looks at him with despair and grief and all the pain of a man incapable of walking up a hill.

“How. Are. You. Not…” Nishimura pauses, gasping for breath. “Dying.” He ends with a note of finality. Kitamoto pulls, and suddenly Nishimura is not only being dragged up the hill, but now full on hauling ass up the hill. “H-hey! Acchan, what the heck! Acchan! Acchan, stop!”

Kitamoto doesn’t relent and only smiles even wider as Natsume reaches out with his hand and carefully entwines it with Nishimura’s, and suddenly the three of them are running up the mountain path hand interlocked with hand, a human chain. 

“Sacchan, I’d go here with my dad when he has time.” Kitamoto said, offering his supposed excuse. Nishimura, in a haze of blanched haggling for oxygen, shifts his focus to Natsume who was quietly giggling as the three of them dashed up the hill. Kitamoto follows his gaze and his eyes go soft with fondness at Natsume’s giggles. 

“Aww fineee, Sacchan has an excuse, but what’s yours Natsume?” Nishimura whines. _One foot in front of another,_ he thinks, repeating the mantra to himself in an effort to not drag all three of them back down the hill should he so fall. And like a deer frozen in headlights, Natsume stops, full stop, and suddenly both Kitamoto and Nishimura run into him; in a gaggle of bodies and cries of shock, the three land in a pile of limbs for the second time that day. “Ow, ow, ow.” 

Kitamoto grunts and shuffles to stand. He dusts himself off, and then reaches a hand out for Nishimura, who grabs it without hesitation. Once both of them are up, they reach for Natsume, who has pushed himself into a stiff, _off,_ sitting position. He doesn’t look up.

“Sorry.” It’s a whisper, barely audible over the brush of wind through leaves of a forest and the almost, almost, soft trickles of the creek that would later turn to a river that they were following. 

Nishimura squats down to eye level, Kitamoto follows and now both of their hands are outstretched for Natsume again, but this time, in his sight. He blinks at them owlishly, eyelashes fluttering, fearful. They smile.

“Nothing to apologize for, Natsume.” Nishimura quietly says. 

“Yeah,” Kitamoto agrees before continuing. “Besides, it’s not our fault Sacchan can’t walk up anything that’s anywhere near a small incline.” 

“Hey!” 

And there it is. Fleeting like the horizon, wavering but true, Natsume smiles back and reaches out for the two people in front of him. They don’t falter, firm and steady, Nishimura and Kitamoto gently help Natsume back to his feet. Briefly, their hands linger, reassuring and just, simply, _there,_ before they let go. 

“Yeah,” Natsume said. “And I thought I wasn't athletic.” There's a slight, lilting and playful tone. It’s warm and pleasant on his tongue, unfamiliar in ways that speak of times so long past that hindered and trapped this fun side.

Nishimura blinks. Once. Twice. Then throws his head back and laughs hysterically. Kitamoto isn’t far behind, snickering. 

“Yeah, yeah! Sacchan can’t even walk up stairs without needing to catch his breath!” Kitamoto adds. 

“That’s not fair! Acchan you’re supposed to be on my sideeeee!” 

“We’re not the ones complaining.” Natsume suddenly blurts out. Kitamoto takes it in stride, the comments easily, sweetly, without any intention of harm coming to his lips.

“And we’re the ones carrying all the stuff, since you were complaining it was too hard when we started.” Kitamoto let’s himself grin, wide, devilish. _Oh no,_ Nishimura knows that look. It’s the same look that’s haunted every single day of his life since he and Kitamoto had become friends. This was the look of a man on a mission sent by hell, the devil himself. A man ready to attack. Which he does without hesitation. 

“Acchan, please no!” 

Kitamoto lunges, hands up, fingers wiggling. They land on the floor and Natsume is stunned into stillness. A strange tight feeling bubbling in his chest, before laughter—oh, there’s laughter—breaks in and squashes the unpleasantness building. 

“Acchan! Acch—haha! HAhaha, Ac-chan! Please! M-mercyyy!” Nishimura squeaks through laughter. Kitamoto doesn’t relent and attacks with fervor. By the time he does pull back, breathing heavily, cheeks hurting from smiling too much for too long, Nishimura is a flushed wreck of fading giggles. Nishimura sort of flops back, hitting the ground with a gentle “oomph”. Kitamoto sits back too, but doesn’t really remove himself from on top of Nishimura. They both huff a bit, lingering laughter still in the air. 

“Nishimura, you’re ticklish.” Natsume states, it’s not really a question at this point. The two boys on the ground look up at him. Kitamoto throws up a peace sign and grins wider than before.

“Yup! Has been since we were kids! Super, absolutely, wrecked by tickling.” Kitamoto says. “The ultimate weakness!” Kitamoto winks cheekily.

“Hey! Acchan!” Nishimura sits up, trying to cover Kitamoto’s mouth. “Stop telling literally everyone that I’m ticklish!” Kitamoto shoves him back down to the ground. 

“Nope.” He says through a smile. 

“Ugh! You’re insufferable!” 

“Yup.” 

Nishimura rolls his eyes. 

Natsume then joins in the lingering laughs too. He’s quiet, like he always is, but it’s endearing and so, so cute that Nishimura sits up once again fully to take it all in. Natsume reaches out, _actually reaches out_ , for them and Kitamoto and Nishimura can’t help but think. _Holy shit._ And in a blink they’re both grabbing Natsume’s hands, one each, and letting themselves get dragged to standing. No one lets go. 

The silence is sweet, honey thick, as the golden rays of sun envelop them in a wash of warmth. The clouds had meandered away, letting crystal blue sky shine out into the emerald forest surrounding them. Sun-dappled leaves flutter with the wind and the soft chime of bird song rings clear. Natsume glows under this ephemeral glitter that colors his hair brilliant gold, and lingers on his lashes like starlight. They flutter a bit, watery, unbelieving at the sight of these two in front of him. Kitamoto blinks red, ruby fire of warmth and protection, a rock of both sturdy and gentle intent. Nishimura huffs green, jade in calm waters, exuding nothing but shine, kindness, and eternal love. They blend, the three of them, melting into malleable, crystal clear rainbow love. It’s warm and Natsume’s smile is blinding and beautiful. 

Time melts away with them, and suddenly they’re at a flowing waterfall just a few river bends in front. Calm, turquoise blue water flows translucent with flickering not quite shadows. Charcoal gray rocks illuminated by dappled light shafts glitter with the water reflections dancing against their undersides. Nishimura’s jaw drops. Kitamoto, on reflex, shut it with his hand with the expected audible click of Nishimura’s teeth. 

“Andddd,” Kitamoto starts. “We’re here!” 

Nishimura shouts incomprehensibly, excitedly, and makes a mad dash for the mostly flat space nearest to the river bank. He throws a large picnic blanket onto the ground and drops all of his things there too. Kitamoto laughs for a second, before tugging on Natsume's hand and the two walk towards the newly set out area by Nishimura. They drop their stuff too, by Nishimura’s, and Kitamoto sits down, patting the space beside him. Deftly, Natsume obliges, comfortable, close, joining Kitamoto on the picnic blanket.

Kitamoto efficiently unpacks his fishing gear, pulling out the fishing poles, lures, and bait from his sturdy tackle box. He hands one pole to Natsume, who takes it with reverence, scared and unsure what to do. Then, Kitamoto pulls out another fishing pole, this time for himself. He attaches the lures for both of them, and then grabs Natsume’s hand before the two of them can get up. Natsume, startled at the sudden contact, doesn’t move and looks Kitamoto in the eyes who stares back with a very set look.

“The hooks are very sharp, so please be careful. I’ll show you how to cast and everything, just…” Kitamoto sort of stops there, eyes suddenly shifting away to the ground. “Please be careful, I don’t want you to get hurt.” He ends softly. 

Natsume blinks, the ruby red warmth that seems to ever burn in Kitamoto sparks and flashes through Natsume in tandem with his pulsing heart. He nods back at the warning, a shaky, but hopefully reassuring smile on his face. It seems to work, because Kitamoto very gently tugs Natsume’s hand, and the two of them stand. They make their way to the river edge where Nishimura is. 

“Acchan! Natsume! Come on!” Nishimura says. He practically kicks off his shoes before stampeding his way into the river. He jumps a bit at the cold water and squeaks when a particularly energetic gush of water laps higher than his waist, soaking his shirt. 

“Satoru!” Kitamoto snaps and it cracks through the air like a sharp whip. Suddenly Nishimura is ramrod straight, twirling around with a hand in salute. 

“Yessir!” He shouts in response. Kitamoto face palms with a sigh. 

“Sacchan, you’re gonna scare all the fish away…” Kitamoto explains. At this, Nishimura has at least the decency to blush. And it’s a wonderful thing, being burned by fire the Kitamoto always carries, because this fire that burns just as bright across Nishimura’s cheeks and down his neck to cover his shoulders is beautiful. Natsume blinks in awe, he’s never seen Nishmura like this before. In all honesty, he’s never seen anyone so, so _vulnerable_ , openly vulnerable in front of him. No one’s ever been this _trusting._ Natsume has to take a breath, it’s all too much, constricting and taking his breath away. 

Kitamoto just shakes his head, but there’s no hiding that soft, gooey smile that’s only been reserved for Nishimura in all the years they’ve been together. But little did he know, this smile would be given to another person, on another day, for another time, but given nonetheless. And when it comes, it will be like the final piece of a long unfinished puzzle, just perfect in every way. And it will come like the sun rising over the horizon, glitter, golden, bright and brilliant like it was always supposed to be, like it was meant to be. 

“Sorry!” Nishimura whispers, but really it’s such a poor example of trying to restrict his excitement that both Kitamoto and Natsume can’t help but giggle just a tad. Kitamoto, still gentle, warm, takes Natsume’s hand and leads by example, removing his shoes and wadding into the shallower parts of the river, towards two of the larger rocks. 

Natsume follows willingly, shocked by wonder as he dips his feet into the cerulean water, sharply cold, yet refreshing. Kitamoto climbs onto one of the rounder rocks, and gestures for Natsume to take the other, just a ways to the left and slightly larger, flatter. When both are fully situated, Kitamoto starts a quick run through of how to fish. Nishimura is splashing up stream, closer to the brilliant, powerful waterfall that gushes from a tall cliff, and into the nestle of forest. _Even if he does scare the fish, at least they’ll still swim downstream,_ Kitamoto thinks. But he knows Nishimura is trying, at least, to not get in the way of their fishing. Natsume casts his line, and Kitamoto does too, and now they wait patiently. 

The sun comes dappled, down under through leaves that rustle tangy green. The wind blows, caressing and perfectly enough for the moderately warm day. _No risk of Natsume fainting,_ Nishimura suddenly has an afterthought. The pleasant splash of water bubbles over the rippling waves and echoes in relaxing, constant pulses. The light flickers and flashes. It bounces through the water, back, and showers the trio with brilliant beams of rainbow crystal beauty. A slight mist from the edge of the waterfall throws luminous, translucent arcs of glitter when the sun shines just right. It’s perfect. Natsume smiles in the not-so quiet. It feels _right._

Their light chatter bounces off the tree trunks as they glide over decadent flora and fauna. They titter, jumping from one side of the tree to the other. The grass flies past in quick smears of color and the lights seem to narrow into beams that streak harsh and fast by them. They snicker. 

_Oh what fun!_ They think, voice never really carrying. It’s been so long since they, the one known as Yona, has gone out to play. And now the forest sings for them, just as it always has in the decades they have lived here. As they pass the sloping edge of the cliff and plunge into the river of such clear song, Yona lets themself wash over the edge.

They land with a brilliant splash, diving deep into the depths until the tumbling drone of water falling disappears and Yona sinks into a deeper, darker cerulean, still illuminated ever so slightly by the glowing rays of sunshine. For a moment, just a moment, Yona simmers there, enjoying the constant rhythm of the waterfall above and the beautifully low hum that clear water sings in its depths. But something is strange, it disturbs the age old familiar melody of water and forest and home. So Yona blinks and floats to the top of the water, breaching the surface with a small pip. 

And _there._ Children of man! Three it seemed. Yona glides to the bank of the river and floats above it, the water dripping easily in a practiced dance. In a few seconds, they are dry. Looking at the children, Yona flits to behind a nearby tree, and steadily moves closer and closer, until they are just near some sort of cloth on the floor. _Strange children of man,_ they think. _Why place cloth on the floor like this?_

They shake their head. Then, the unfamiliar cacophony they had heard that disturbed the forest’s song comes back. Yona looks from the cloth to the children now, and then sees. Truly, truly sees. 

The three were… They were laughing! And now, Yona knows that their sound is not unruly and intrusive like most of those humans that tramped their way into Yona’s forest. No, these children, _They were meant to be_ . However unfamiliar having children of man in their forest may be, Yona can’t help but feel pleasantly surprised. A sense of calm washes over them as they continue to peer at the three before them. _Yes,_ the sound that these children are making is actually euphonic, and sings just as bright, just as perfect, melding with the forest song, clear as day. Yona titters again, babbling out to join this symphony. 

Natsume stops laughing abruptly, and his head snaps to the left, just past the picnic blanket. Nishimura and Kitamoto are still too consumed in their laughter, but soon they realize something is missing and stop. The forest is silent. 

“Natsume?” Nishimura asks.

And just like that, the moment is over and Natsume smiles, daybreaking. 

“Sorry, thought I heard something.” He’s sheepish. 

Kitamoto and Nishimura share the _look_. And collectively agree that it’s just another Natsume thing and if he was okay, then all was okay. And even if he was a little sheepish, nothing about his posture nor his voice seemed on edge and so Nishimura and Kitamoto simply bounce onto another story, one which Natsume eagerly listens to too. The air is glittering again, and it’s perfect. 

Natsume, although surprised at the sudden voice, had a feeling that this yokai wasn’t there to hurt them. So he opts to enjoy the time spent in this place that he knows there is a space for him, a home for him. The yokai is still in his sights, but when it doesn’t really do anything, and just seems to enjoy observing, he lets it go from the forefront of his mind and relaxes. Natsume pipes into the conversation, confident that his comment will be welcomed. It is. 

_The child! The child just stared at Yona!_ Yona thinks. They stutter with their chatter and simply choose to stare in wonder. _That child can see me._

But then again, it might have just been an accident, and yet… Yona is stumped. But the wonderful symphony that had stopped restarts and the trees sing once more. Yona is happy. The trees have not sung so bright in so long. It is good. _Here in this forest of euphony._ _It is only right._ And with that, Yona settles down and nestles into the bramble of ferns and grass, hidden in plain sight. They watch as the children speak beautiful sounds that meld together perfectly. It was perfect in every way, and Yona can’t help but smile too. _They were meant for each other._ The thought is fleeting but right and Yona nods to the song of forest and rainbows. 


End file.
